


Bunk Beds

by cynosure_phrases



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz is a Secret Softie, Bunk bed, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Nightmares, POV Multiple, Protective Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 10:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15168935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynosure_phrases/pseuds/cynosure_phrases
Summary: Over the past week and a half, I’ve witnessed three splinters impale Snow, had my head hit sitting up more than five times, and noticed Snow’s pissing pattern in correlation to what he has with dinner.Tonight, though, I decided to slip out early to feed. And maybe I shouldn’t, because now I’m facing a dilemma. Snow. In my bed.-Simon messed up and spelled the beds together into a bunk bed, and now they’re stuck in a childlike loop of these beds. That is, until Simon passes out on bottom bunk accidentally and doesn’t want to move for Baz.





	Bunk Beds

**Author's Note:**

> Hi fellas!!! So this is my first fic since early 2017 when I was still heavily in the Sherlock fandom, so this is my first fic for the Carry On fandom!!! I'm a little rusty, so I'm hoping this is good enough aaa!!!! Enjoy and please any comments are appreciated!!! Thank!!!!

**SIMON**

 

              I really, _really_ didn’t mean it. I’m not even sure exactly how it happened.

              Well, no, okay, I know _how_ it happened. I spelled them together, but I don’t know why it occurred with the bed. I thought it would combine the bed sheet and the blanket. An easy fix, just a simple **As you were** would theoretically put it back, but not with the beds. Merlin know how old these frames are. Now what the hell is Baz going to do once he sees them?

              He won’t kill me. Not yet, I think. At least not in the room, but who knows what he’ll do once I leave the confines of these walls. Probably try to drown me. Again.

              Frankly, the spell I used wasn’t even that impressive. I was going through various combination spells since Penny said I’m shit at them. I started with an **Everything but the kitchen sink** , which barely worked on all the various pens and papers on my desk. It took a little bit of prying, but they snapped off after a good few tugs. But when I tried **No. 5 Combo** , they just… flew together. The posts grew and snapped together and I saw my life flash before my eyes. _I’m dead meat. He’s going to throw me out into the moat. He’ll tie me to a tree and he’ll just leave me there. Maybe he’ll feast on me in the Catacombs._ I can see it now, him towering over me with a rope he had hiding under his bed for this exact situation, one that he can excuse to himself for my death, and he’ll drag me away in my sleep to tie me up, and that’s how I die. Right then and there.

              Okay, maybe not. Not enough chase for the bastard. He’ll cast a **Cat and mouse** and we’ll chase until he’s got me in my grips, and I’m fucked.

              By the time I’ve figured how exactly he’ll kill me, he’s walking into the room.

 

**BAZ**

 

              The airs so thick with nervous magic that I might as well swim in it. What the hell has Snow done now? Turn himself into a--

              Oh. There’s one bed. Or more like two beds with barely two feet between them held up by the (splintering) planks that were the frame. “Oh lovely. It’s a childhood sleepover.”

              Snow looks at me like a bloody puppy. Crowley, he’s pathetic. I can’t tell whether or not I want to kick his knee caps in, or kiss that look off of him. Probably both. I’m pathetic. “I… can’t spell them apart.”

              I snort and close the door before examining them. While realistically, he’s right, but he _could_ spell them apart if neither of us want a bed. Lovely.

              “I swear, it wasn’t intentional.”

              “Whether or not that’s true, I don’t want to be the one climbing up your mess every night.”

              He looks at me again with a ridiculous stare. “So we’re _actually_ going to stay on this?”

              “No, Snow. We’ll sleep on the floor until you figure out how to tell the Mage you can’t be trusted with Watford furniture.”

              He just huffs in response. Of course, he’s got nothing better to do than to huff and complain. “Fine. Alright. I’ll sleep on the top.” Well, at least if it breaks, he’ll put me out of this misery. It may not be how I exactly imagined it, but it’s still efficient. Practically a stake through the heart, except the stake is an old wood plank and it’s due to Snow’s night thrashing and poor spell control.

              Lovely.

              “I’m going to shower,” he grumbles as I’m watching the most likely unstable bunkbeds, grabbing his pajamas and practically slamming the bathroom door.

              I change swiftly before laying down on the bottom, hearing the groan of the wood. My underside bed sunk closer to the floor, which, of course, is only slightly more comfortable than the numpty coffin. Slightly.

              By the time Snow’s out, I’m already shifted to a comfortable position to read. He wordlessly hauls himself up to the top and I hear the bed nearly give under him. If it were the end of last year, it would’ve gone, but he lost quite a bit of weight over the summer. Maybe I won’t die until he gains after the Holidays.

              He’s silent for a good long Snow while, which is less than a half an hour. Of course, he tries to spark a conversation. “Should I put a strengthening spell on it?”

              “With your luck, it’ll crumble immediately.”

              He huffs again and fusses over trying to get up. I noticed his wand left on the desk across the room. I’d let him give me a show of climbing out and exposing as much of him as it takes to drag himself out of the deathtrap of a bed, but I’m not in the mood to watch him spell the beds worse. Instead, I draw out my own and give it a quick **Tough as nails** before setting my wand aside. That’ll get him to sleep so I can slip out. Hopefully.

 

* * *

 

 

**BAZ**

 

              Over the past week and a half, I’ve witnessed three splinters impale Snow, had my head hit sitting up more than five times, and noticed Snow’s pissing pattern in correlation to what he has with dinner.

              Tonight, though, I decided to slip out early to feed. And maybe I shouldn’t, because now I’m facing a dilemma. Snow. In my bed.

              There he is, sprawled out on my sheets, shirt half done.

              Is he trying to kill me? He’s trying to kill me.

              I stand there for a minute (or ten) trying to figure out what to do. I’m not quite sure I trust the top bunk, but I don’t quite wish to sleep on the floor, so that begs the question of me sleeping on the bed.

              I step over, my body aching. I just want to sleep, but this… loaf would rather take my spot.

              My shoes slide off as I tower over the bed, clearing my throat sharply enough to startle him.

 

**SIMON**

 

              I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, I just… did? I got out of the shower and something overcame me and I just… passed out. It was a long day after all; Penny had me running around to help her study some… nature thing. I don’t quite understand, but she seemed to have fun.

              By the time Baz wakes me, I don’t care about getting up. He seems pissed, but I’m too wrecked to care.

              I’m apparently too wrecked to even think clearly, because I just roll over and grunt.

              Eyes closed and half conscious, I suppose I didn’t expect the bed to dip after what seems to be forever. The air fills with dust and brick that’s clung to the vampire as Baz sinks in beside me. Slowly, the mattress gives towards him and I turn onto my back, hearing a grunt beside me.

              “Shove it, Snow. This bed is barely enough for the both of us.”

              “Hhnhh…”

 

**BAZ**

 

              I hate this. Here he is, pressed up to my side and not moving. He smells like antibacterial and peppermint and of course, _of course,_ his mouth is gaping open as he half snores. Somehow, he’s never been more attractive.

              “Move, snow,” I say, a little softer. He jostles a little, but still groans in protest.

              That’s it. I just have to close my eyes and…

              His arm is around me. His arm is tossed around _my_ body. He’s turned now to face me, and I’m almost sure that he has no clue what he’s doing. _Merlin, I’m never going to sleep like this._ I shouldn’t let this continue, especially since I can’t guarantee I won’t wake up hard if I do sleep, but there is no way on this cursed planet that I’m moving this boy away from me now.

              Slowly, I shift my head over to look at his and it hits me how close he is. I breathe the same air as him, his chest rising and falling slowly. He’s so painfully peaceful, and so calm so close to me. This may be the happiest I’ll ever be, pressed up against Snow to his will.

              Despite this, over the course of the next hour, he doesn’t remain peaceful. A nightmare. He turns away, drawing his arm with him, and mumbles… something. He’s angry, he’s sweating, and he’s _leaking magic._ I can’t believe I have to be the one to do this.

              After gripping his shoulder, I shake him once. Twice. “Snow. Snow wake up.”

              He turns again, his face scrunched.

              “Snow,” I say a little louder, a little sterner.

              He rattles awake, eyes shooting wide and heart pounding. I can hear it. I can feel it.

              “Fuck,” he swears, eyes bugging and sweat starting to drip. “ _Fucking hell_.” Whenever he swears like a Normal, somethings off. How often does this happen?

              I watch him for a minute wordlessly, studying him. _What_ happened? “The humdrum?” I ask eventually, my voice a little unsteady. This is completely uncharted territory.

              “Mmm… mmhm.” He rubs his face vigorously, seeming to wipe away the dream. I want to touch him, to pull him close, but I don’t want him pulling The Sword of Mages on me. I want him okay.

              Slowly, I shift closer with eyes locked on him. All those walls built up don’t matter. He won’t remember this in the morning, after all. He can’t even remember what he had for dinner. “You’re safe here, Simon. In here, he can’t hurt you.”

              He raises his eyes, hands trembling and heart racing. “We’re all going to die,” he manages out. It’s barely a whisper. “And I can’t stop it.”

              “You’re going to have to,” I return, half snarky. I can’t help it. He _will_ have to.

              “I don’t want to.” His voice cracks, sounding like I child. I don’t know who this is, but this isn’t the typical Snow.

              I don’t want him to either. I want to take his sorry excuse for a life and drag him away from this. Steal him and hide with him, maybe in some dank cave or den, exactly what you’d expect from a vampire, and I’d lock him away. I may be a selfish asshole, but only for him.

              But I can’t. While I can’t, he hangs his head down and breathlessly lets out a wet sigh, heavy with almost tears. “I don’t want to fight him. I want Watford. I want clean jumpers and a schedule,” he mumbles. He’s tired again. “I wanna…” he goes incoherent. He’s worn himself out.

              My fingers ghost over his hand, very gently settling down on top of them. “I’ll take care of you, Simon Snow,” I let myself say once I’m as sure as I can be that he’s asleep. And I mean it. I’ll take care of him, even if it means I’ll wear myself to the bone first.

 

* * *

 

 

**SIMON**

 

              When I come to, Baz is fast asleep. Of course, he looks absurdly majestic even as he sleeps.

              I swear, I had the oddest dream last night. Baz was here, but he was talking to me in a voice I’ve never heard before. It was almost as if it wasn’t even him here. I’m sure, though, it was a dream. He called me Simon, of course it was a dream. But… why is his hand on mine?

              It’s easily missed. The subtle wrap of his fingers around my palm, thumb resting against my skin, but it’s deliberate. Soothing, somehow. Somethings’ wrong, and I can’t quite put the puzzle together. There’s a missing piece, and it’s somewhere here in this room.

              So I look. I busy my eyes trying to understand the lost end to this game. What is he plotting? What is he holding me back from?

              I look down, and my chain is still peacefully on. He can’t hurt me, I remind myself. He can’t hurt me… but he’s touching me. Holding me. He’s doing something, but it’s not hurting me.

              It hurts my chest. Something burns up, like a paper tossed in a flame. His hand’s smooth and gentle, but holds so much in it, and why, _why_ won’t he let go.

              I want him to let go, but I don’t. I want this solved, but I want him to talk like he did in my dream. I want him to call me Simon. I want him to not be evil, like he is whenever I have my eyes open. Why is Baz only good in my dreams?

 

**BAZ**

 

              I wake up mortified, but frozen in time. My hand’s still gripping onto Snow’s, but I hear his breathing and he’s not asleep. He’s so awake and so full of life that it leaks onto me, mocking me that Snow’s heat is pressed up against my cold, dead body. Despite him being only so regularly warm, it burns to the touch. I want it to burn so much more.

              My eyes don’t dare open. My mouth doesn’t dare taste open air until he decides to draw his hand away. But he doesn’t. Why doesn’t he?

 

**SIMON**

 

              I think he’s awake, but I don’t think I can check. Does he feel his hand against mine? It’s like an ice pack pressed to my skin, tentatively keeping me cool. I wish I could feel them less, or maybe I wish I could feel them more. I’m not even sure anymore. Will he yell at me once he notices?

 

**BAZ**

 

              Besides the obvious, I’m a dead man. The boy gripping me will end me the moment I give away that I’m awake, and I just have to prepare myself. Somebody tell Fiona she’s awful but I love her. Tell Dev and Niall that they’re also awful, but leave it at that. Tell my father that his family is unbearable.

              That’s about all I have left to think of. I suppose I can die now.

              My eyes flutter open, but much to my surprise, I feel another set on me. Brilliant. His usual Snow waves beat off of him, hitting me as he stares. Hasn’t he got anything better to taunt me with?

              “Did I miss something?” He asks. He sounds almost as lost as last night, but this time more assured. He seems to understand something, but he doesn’t seem to remember. Crowley.

              “Miss something? Rest assured, I didn’t rip you limb-for-limb last night, Snow. All parts of you are right here.”

              He sighs exasperatedly. He sounds genuinely annoyed. “Baz.”

              I turn to look at him with as much of a blank stare as I can muster. My hand still on his, and his is still holding mine. He isn’t letting go. He wants something out of me, and it isn’t something I want to give. “It sounds like you’re looking for something that you won’t be able to find here, Snow.”

              “I want to find you.” Bold. Stupid. He’s so stupid.

              I’m so stupid too. I’m stupid for him.

              I look at him, and I melt. I’m like putty in his hands, he can do _so much_ to me and he barely has to ask. What can I say, I’m chuffed when it comes to him.

              “Why are you still holding?”

              “Why are _you_ still holding?”

              There’s silence. It’s an eternity. The world could flash out with a comet and I’d still be sitting here, staring at Simon Snow. I want him to speak. I want to speak. I want this over so I can keep sulking on my own time.

              “You called me Simon.”

              “Did not.”

              “You spoke so softly.”

              “Never know why I’d ever do something like that.”

              “You told me I’m safe.”

              I watch him. I’m going to die for this. I’m dead for this. I’m dead for my silence.

              And I just watch him. I’m gone. I close my eyes because despite already being dead, I’m six feet under now.

              But I feel a warmth against me. A soft, sweet warmth closing in on me. The hand never leaves mine, but a touch swipes against my cheek before settling there. What is he doing? He can’t break my neck like this.

              But he doesn’t. God, I don’t know why, but he doesn’t break my neck (or even try). Instead, he presses his lips to mine.

              If Snow’s hand was burning, then his mouth a flame. He’s setting me on fire from the inside, and I’m burning in _such a good way_. He might just light me up now and let me die that way.

              He’s hot, and he’s heavy, pushing me into the bed after I finally respond. He started so gentle, so sweet, but after I reciprocated, it was all over. My hands are gripping into his hair, tugging onto the strands and Crowley, I ache _in such a good way_. My chest feels like it’s ripped out of me, and his flames are licking my insides. He could kill me like this, and I’d thank him.

              He’s rolled on top, holding me down like I’d run away, which I’d never do. To be fair, I’m gripping onto him, everywhere I can find and everywhere my hands can travel safely, just to cling to him and never let him run away. _Simon. Simon Snow_. He’s kissing me, and he’s bringing me to life.

              He could kiss me forever. He just might, if I didn’t stop him for breath. “Merlin, Snow,” I manage, eyes looking up to meet his. “Never fix this bed.”

              And he smiles, melting my whole world with it. Simon Snow just kissed me. No, Simon Snow is _kissing_ me, and my life has never had so much purpose.


End file.
